


Fires

by darkesky



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Burns, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Gimurei | Grima
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 04:22:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19288036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkesky/pseuds/darkesky
Summary: Oh, Naga, he broke his leg.The first thought exploding into his mind was dancing. He always snuck out of their base camp to get it done, but it allowed him a way out of the hellish conditions of Ylisse. Alone, he could finally come to terms with everything that had happened today… Or, he could dodge those thoughts. He needed that escape just as much as Kjelle needed to train and Laurent needed to research. They all had habits they developed to make their way through the day, and his had been ripped away.---Inigo breaks his leg, and everything just spirals from there.





	Fires

**Author's Note:**

> look who's back after FOREVER! Just to hurt my bby, Inigo! I'm suffering writer's block severely for these characters, though, so if you have any suggestions I would love to hear them!

He woke to the feeling of tears splattering upon his face, and someone hurriedly tried to sop them up with their calloused fingers. With a trembling voice, whoever was crying spoke. “Who’s going to tell him this?”

_ Owain.  _ The name registered blindly bright in his mind, refusing to be ignored. Yet, some parts of him refused to believe that it really was his friend. The tone of his voice didn’t make sense. Where was the flamboyance? Where was the eagerness to give way to fantasy? There was a somberness about him he had never heard before… No, that wasn’t true. He had heard this tone, this attitude on Owain when they discovered Lissa’s dead body.

“I hate ta ask you...” someone started hesitantly.

He felt Owain jolt, his fingertips retracting from where they had begun to fiddle with his hair.  _ “Me?  _ We… We aren’t friends!”

If he could find the strength, he would flinch away from the way he shouted it. Owain and him hadn’t been close before it all started, but now, he couldn’t  _ breathe  _ if he disappeared. Sure, he made fun of Owain’s elaborate stories and flowery way of speaking, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care for Owain. He also stood up for his friend in town to make sure nobody else mocked him.

“We both know that’s a load of shit,” the other person replied. Despite the harshness of the words, there was a certain amount of tenderness in it. If he had to guess, he knew the healer would burst out in tears soon enough. 

Of all people he thought would linger around his sickbed, his first guess wouldn’t have been Brady and Owain. Brady, on one hand, greatly disliked him. He didn’t like how flippant he always was, and he definitely didn’t appreciate the times he dragged Brady out to the bars with him. Owain and him had gotten close but always behind closed doors. Something about revealing their newfound friendship felt like a betrayal to their former selves… The version of him that would have killed himself before he even started to consider Owain a best friend. Thinking of that version of him always made him sick to his stomach.

Owain sighed and struggled with the words, stammering over the starts of whatever he needed to say. Finally, he sighed again. “I don’t want to be the one who crushes his dream, Brady.”

“You ain’t crushing his dreams! He’ll be gettin’ it back after…” Brady hesitated. “After about three months…”

“Right! Let me just tell him he’ll be stuck for about three months.” Owain’s voice wobbled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap-”

“It’s fine.” The healer brushed him off easily, and then Owain’s voice started to drift away. He must be walking away. For whatever reason, it filled him with an indescribable panic. He  _ needed  _ Owain by his side. He can’t just… He can’t walk away!

Brady’s rough hands began to grope at his wrist, seeking out vitals. He wondered if his pulse would give him away, that he was in fact conscious. He can’t find the strength to open his eyes though. He couldn’t move a single inch right now. A deep-seated ache wrapped its way around his bones and refused to let him go. 

Brady’s hand dropped away, and his own fell and hung off the bed. “Guess we’re focusin’ on the wrong part. He might not wake.”

“Don’t be crazy. He’s going to wake up,” Owain immediately said, the faith clear in his voice. 

Whatever Brady started to retort was lost as a cold wind swept about the inside of the tent. The two of them fell silent as someone glided into the tent. He could only tell by the shuffling of boots across the front of the tent. The silence hung, oppressive and angry, for a long moment. 

Then, the newcomer sighed. “I was hoping the others were exaggerating how badly the skirmish went.”

“It went shittily,” Brady helpfully said. 

She sighed again. “I see that.”

What could be bad enough that Lucina felt the need to check up on him? The last time they spoke, they had an argument about whether or not she should smile to the other children. She insisted that they already knew her emotions and a smile would be no more or no less comforting. He said she ought to try anyway because a smile from  _ Lucina  _ would certainly brighten everyone’s day. 

Of course, he did have another motive, and maybe she could sense it. He wanted her to smile because  _ Severa  _ was concerned Lucina was dying inside. As much as he liked gossiping with the brunette, hearing about Lucina every night certainly grated on the nerves. He would never care about her that much. Even though he jumped from crush to crush easily, he never harbored a never-ending flame for someone…

Severa laughed in his head and pointed out a certain masked wyvern rider. However, he was currently unconscious and injured in the med tent, so this time was a good as any to run from his problems there.

“You’re not using a staff on this?” Lucina asked.

Brady made a wounded noise in the back of his throat. “I… I want ta, I really do. But we’re runnin’ out, and it ain’t fatal.”

“It’ll be fatal to him,” Owain pointed out. The way his voice sounded suggested he had this argument with Brady already. Surprisingly, Owain and Brady often got into arguments over healing. Even their mothers used to argue about it, and they both seemed to pass down their core beliefs. Owain would try anything to make someone’s life better, and Brady wanted to be more conservative about his magic and his staff.

Once again, Lucina sighed. He would have made a joke about that if he could speak. She seemed to be more asleep than awake right now. Then again, who was he to judge someone for being asleep? “No, Brady’s right here, Owain. He can’t waste our last staffs on this.”

“He’ll be vulnerable for  _ three months,”  _ Owain quickly said.

Lucina’s voice grew firmer. “We’ll make sure he’s always by one of the fliers. Cynthia and Gerome will be able to take care of him. Hell, if you’re really so concerned about it, he can even ride Yarne or Nah. We have a lot of options, and I think the best course of action to take is to just let it heal naturally.”

“What if it heals crookedly? He’d never be able to do… Do his  _ thing.”  _ There was a weight he didn’t like in Owain’s tone. For the first time, he tried to gauge where exactly this injury was in his body. 

Forcing himself back into consciousness, he ignored the raging argument between the three of them. He sensed that was going to last much longer than he cared to deal with. With a herculean amount of effort, he managed to pry his eyelids open and inspect himself. The injury instantly caught his eye, whether or not he wanted it to. 

His right leg had a wooden plank bound to it with tight bandages. He couldn’t even see his skin underneath all the white gauze. Inigo tried to move his leg, but it refused to. Maybe when he was more awake, he could truly gauge how bad this was. However, considering it was done up like he somehow broke it, he imagined that… That really was the only answer left. He broke his leg.

Oh, Naga, he broke his  _ leg.  _

The first thought exploding into his mind was dancing. He always snuck out of their base camp to get it done, but it allowed him a way out of the hellish conditions of Ylisse. Alone, he could finally come to terms with everything that had happened today… Or, he could dodge those thoughts. He needed that escape just as much as Kjelle needed to train and Laurent needed to research. They all had habits they developed to make their way through the day, and his had been ripped away.

The second thought was in agreement with Owain. He was  _ vulnerable.  _ He wouldn’t be able to run away, he wouldn’t be able to fight. He’d probably have to use crutches or always be carried everywhere. Surviving all of  _ that?  _ No, there was no way he was going to survive unless Brady fixed him up.

The argument suddenly faded away, and Owain entered his field of vision. He visibly puffed out his chest as if trying to inspire confidence. “Inigo of the Azure Skies, you have found your way back to us from the seedy depths of darkness! I cannot begin to describe how your light will greatly inspire the troops, and how each of our prayers flowed into the sky when it was diminished! We had thought it fell on deaf ears, but now I can see a man of such magnitude cannot be stopped by a simple thing as the undead!”

Inigo said nothing, still staring at his leg. 

“Are you feeling alright?” Lucina asked. 

Slowly, his eyes traveled to hers, and he could see the concern clearly written across her face. This wasn’t like him. This somber, quiet version of him trying to process the fact that he wouldn’t be able to  _ walk,  _ much less dance.

He forced a smile. “It’s nice to see such a pretty face at my sick bed! However, it’d be nicer to see you beside me in this bed.”

“He’s fine,” Lucina concluded.

-

For two days, Inigo stayed bedridden. Everyone visited him as much as they could, and he ended up spending time with people he never would have imagined. Nah sat by his bedside and told deeply religious stories, and he didn’t know how to tell her that he didn’t quite believe in Naga anymore. Laurent came and read the statistics of broken legs and healing rates, which is something he really  _ didn’t  _ need in his day-to-day life. Cynthia made a flower crown for him every day and told flower fortunes. Noire sat at the end of his bed, her whole body trembling as if she needed to flee at any given moment.

The few people he really  _ wanted  _ to see didn’t swing by. Owain had stopped visiting after he had woken up. Severa and Gerome didn’t bother trying to venturing into the tent, and it wasn’t like he could seek them out. Even his own sister refused to pay him a visit. Then again, he supposed he expected it from Morgan as of late. She had become quiet and distant, constantly looking over her shoulder as if she was doing something  _ wrong.  _

Yet, nobody came into the tent at night. They left him alone to his own thoughts, something he didn’t want to face quite yet. Everyone knew that Inigo kept the latest hours of everyone in the tent. He thrived under the moonlight. Now, it just kept him awake after everyone else had fallen asleep. Usually, with all of the energy thrumming in his veins, he’d sneak out of the camp and dance…

Now, he tried to focus on the book in his hands, eyes skipping from page to page without really retaining it. Cynthia had gifted it to him, and it told a dramatic version of events their parents lived through. He flipped through it, though, and there wasn’t a single pink-haired dancer within the pages. He couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or relieved. He wasn’t sure he could face his mother knowing that he couldn’t do the one thing the two of them shared.

He wondered, when he reached the point about Sumia and Chrom’s marriage, if they knew their children would constantly be in danger. Chrom grew up as a child of the throne. From what he’s heard, that was rarely positive. The fact all three of them grew up without damage was shocking. 

Hesitantly, Inigo scanned the page. His eyes fixated on Chrom’s brand. Lucina possessed the very same thing in her eye, and it constantly caught his attention. Cynthia’s was poised on her ankle, hidden most days, but by night, everyone could see she was a proud daughter of Chrom. Even Owain received one on his arm, and he insisted on flashing it to everyone around. 

He wasn’t surprised the other brand didn’t make an appearance here. Most days, he ignored it himself. Yet, it had appeared on his father’s… On  _ Robin’s  _ hand, and he remembered asking his father…  _ Robin _ about it when he was much younger. Robin simply told him it was a family heirloom he detested. 

Morgan had one on the back of her neck, which she successfully hid by making her hair shaggy and long. Inigo’s was tucked away on his thigh, meaning nobody would  _ ever  _ see it unless they stripped it. Against all of his best efforts, nobody had done that to him yet. 

Then again, he was only sixteen and the years were still young. 

Grinning to himself, he let the thought drift around in his head before he remembered his leg. It’d be hard to get laid with  _ that.  _ It just kept ruining things.

Right as he gritted his teeth and tried to return to his book, the tent flap fluttered open and revealed a small figure. 

“Inigo, are you awake?” Something was  _ wrong  _ about her voice. 

He forced a grin. “You know I am! It’s been awhile…”

When he planned on Morgan’s first visit, he anticipated chastising her for nonexistent for the first two days. He planned on guilt tripping her before she eventually sat beside him, and they read a story together. Or, maybe they’d simply just talk. Something of the sorts. 

The plan immediately lost its meaning.

_ This  _ wasn’t his sister. Morgan pulled the hood of Robin’s jacket up, the shadow casting strange light upon her face. He can still make out three pairs of eyes staring back at him, a glowing red like blood. Purple magic curled around her, and for a second, they made the image of wings stretching out behind her. To her chest, she clutched a tome he knew without asking came from Robin. 

“Morgan, what’s going on?” The smile disappeared off his lips, and he sat up straighter. Casting aside his book, he did a quick scan of the tent for any sort of weapon. He had absolutely  _ nothing  _ to defend himself with.

She didn’t reply to him. Instead, she whispered something in a language he didn’t recognize, and the purple magic swarmed the sides of the tent. After its shimmer disappeared, his uneasiness refused to do the same. “There we go. This way, nobody will be able to eavesdrop on our conversation.”

“Everyone’s asleep,” he cautiously began. “They wouldn’t eavesdrop anyway.”

“Is that so?” she mused. Turning back to face him head-on, a smile twisted at her features. It was both Morgan’s and someone else’s, and his stomach tossed anxiously. He’d feel better on his feet. He’d feel better with his sword in his hands. Instead, he sat on the hospital cot and prayed she didn’t do anything. “Tell me… Do you hear it too?”

“Hear what?” She cast a spell, so he can’t call to any of their friends.

Morgan gave him a pitying look. “The call of our  _ father.  _ He wants us back home, you know. He wants our bloodline to stay pure. Hanging around here is only further diluting it.”

“We don’t have a father,” Inigo said quietly, searching his sister’s face. The two of them stood apart on this particular topic, and neither of them tried to talk it out with the others. It was just a fact of life now. They would never be able to agree on the topic of Robin. How could he see him as anything other than a murderer?

She shook her head with a laugh. “Of course we have a father, Inigo! And do you know what he told me?”

Inigo wasn’t going to play along. He pressed his lips together and didn’t reply.

Morgan didn’t need him to. “He said he could fix your  _ leg.  _ You could dance again if you just came back to him. Wouldn’t you like that?”

“It’ll heal without him.” Inigo needed someone else here. He couldn’t cope with this version of his sister… The one who looked exactly like their father after he gave into Grima. The way Grima’s words twisted her own until he couldn’t tell the difference between Morgan and Grima. The way his sister disappeared to give way to Grima.

Suddenly, Morgan stepped forward and pressed her hand against his broken leg. He cried out, hot pain flashing through his nerves. It twisted up, and his Brand  _ burned.  _ Gasping, he reached forward and tried to swat her hand away. “What are you  _ doing?” _

“Trying to show you the truth!” she spat. She backed for a second. Then, she lunged forward again and slapped her hand against his forehead. His thoughts whirled in a panicked haze of pain and desperation before suddenly stilling. Then, his sister entered his mind and seemed to dredge out memories he’d rather forget. 

_ (Robin teaching him how to hold a sword, a proud smile hinted at his face when Inigo did it right. The first time a Risen attacked and the way Inigo bawled. Robin saving Inigo from one of the nameless undead trying to attack him in the garden. Robin teaching Inigo the basics of tactics. _

_ Robin becoming Grima. Robin burning down a village simply because he felt like it. Robin grabbing his mother by her hair and throwing her to the ground. Robin almost killing her. Robin almost killing him. Robin disappearing. The search party for Robin coming back with Chrom’s dead body and a deadly message. _

_ Any child of Robin’s could do the same.) _

Morgan stepped away, and fury burned on her face. “You hate him.”

“He killed them. He killed  _ Mom,”  _ Inigo gasped between watery sobs. When… When had he started crying? It must have been when Morgan shoved her way through his memories. He hadn’t even known a spell that powerful existed.

She shook her head. “Don’t you get it? He  _ saved  _ them!”

“This is saving?” he asked, trying to wipe away his tears away. They kept coming though, and now his face started to go numb. He kept sobbing, choking on the tears, and they refused to fade away. His whole body trembled with the effort, and for a second, he almost felt like he was going to pass out. 

He knew he’d never forget the look on Morgan’s face as she made up her mind. “You’ll join Father and me, one way or another. I suppose there’s an easier way to convince you though.”

She crossed the room to grab the candle burning. He knew what she planned to do a second before she did it, and he cried out desperately, trying to stop her. The candle toppled from her fingers regardless and lit the grass on fire immediately.

“You can join us dead.” 

With that, Morgan turned sharply on her heel and walked out of the tent, Robin’s coat fluttering behind her. He gasped and cried once more after her before twisting on the bed. The fire already grew, licking up the sides of the tent and spreading rapidly across the grass.

Inigo needed to get out before he was burned alive.

Forcing himself out of bed, he almost forgot about his leg. The second it hit the ground, ripples of pain tore through him and sent him back to the ground. He shouted the second he connected, frantically propping himself up on his forearms. He needed to get out of here. He couldn’t spend time on the ground! He couldn’t, he couldn’t,  _ he couldn’t- _

No! He had to do this. Inigo gritted his teeth and, through tears, shoved himself forward with the weight of his forearms. The oppressive heat already bore down on him, sweat dripping down the nape of his neck. He closed his eyes and forced himself to move again. Each movement jostled his leg, and he wanted to give up. Black spotted across his vision when he ventured to open them again, and the world spun into a blur of red and blue. 

The fire twirled around him, and then, he felt the heat boiling against his leg. The wooden plank had… The scent of burning flesh hit the air, and he gasped through the pain. Glancing back, he confirmed his suspicions. The wooden plank and bandages had caught fire. The rest of him would soon enough. This was where he was going to do.

With energy he didn’t feel, he somehow dragged himself the rest of the way out of the tent and started screaming for anyone to come help. Then, he closed his eyes and reached for the innate magic his father once gifted him. 

He heard Robin’s voice in his head immediately.  _ (You can save yourself if you join me.) _

_ (I’d rather die.) _

-

Inigo woke up snuggled between the shiny scales of a wyvern and armor he recognized purely on scent. The other boy denied wearing any sort of perfume or cologne, but he was convinced he must wear  _ something.  _ He always smelled of a flower Inigo couldn’t quite identify but couldn’t help noticing every time they got close. Then again, they never really got closer than necessary.

Then, his leg  _ ached,  _ and his whole body convulsed at the mere memory of pain. Mumbling out a cry, he tried to peel himself away to spot it. Gerome spat out a curse and wrapped his arm tighter around Inigo’s waist. “When they suggested  _ I  _ transport you, I really thought you’d be unconscious most of the trip.”

“What happened?” He tried to peer down at his leg again, and Gerome forced him closer to Minerva. Even the wyvern bellowed out its protest. However, even with his cheek smashed against her scales, he could make out tendrils of smoke reaching towards the sky. 

The memory hit him all at once, and the bile rose in his throat too fast to dissuade. With choking hiccups, he vomited on himself while the voice of his father and the eyes carved into his sister’s cheeks drifted in his mind. Now, Inigo truly had lost the family he had left. With his parents either dead or something leagues worse, he thought he could protect Morgan. The very least he could do was save Morgan.

He  _ failed.  _

“Are you  _ crying  _ now?” Gerome asked incredulously.

Inigo sniffled. “No.”

Gerome waited a few seconds, letting Inigo’s sobs fill the air. Then, he huffed. “Are you sure about that answer?”

“I am perfectly in touch with my masculinity, and I don’t care that I’m crying! Maybe you should try it!” burst Inigo. He felt Gerome try and stifle a laugh against him, and he raised his voice even louder. “And, you know, ladies love a sensitive man. I’m just providing for them.”

“And they also love mottled, burnt skin,” Gerome deadpanned.

Inigo froze. He tried to find the words he wanted, but all of them drifted away from him furiously. How was he meant to reply to that? Against his better instincts, Inigo pressed his right leg against Minerva’s flanks and cried out when the broken skin met her scales. It felt cold and hot all at once, and he could practically feel the broken bone pulsating beneath his skin. He just wanted to be  _ okay  _ again. 

The other boy made a noise in the back of his throat. “I meant it as a joke, you know. I didn’t mean to set you off more. Otherwise, I’d have you riding with Cynthia.”

“Just d-distract me. Then, I’ll stop crying.”  _ That  _ was an empty promise. Inigo was pretty sure he spent ninety percent of his time bawling in his tent, and right now, he felt even more fragile. His head still somewhat spun from a distant pain radiating from his leg, and all of his sleep involved passing out. You never felt very rested after your baby sister tried to kill you though. 

Gerome hummed. “Your sister is a bitch.”

He choked. “I… I don’t know… Oh.”

“She is. Don’t bother trying to defend her. We all know exactly who tried to kill you, and just so you know, she completely ruined our base camp. Before she visited you, she destroyed all of the other tomes. Laurent will have to perform tomeless magic now, and you know how difficult  _ that  _ is.” He made no attempt to hide his disdain from Morgan in his tone. Then again, he never liked his sister very much. Most days, he absolutely hated her. “And the tents had to be abandoned considering how bad the fire became.”

“I’m sorry-”

“You’re not Grima, are you?” Gerome waited for a second. Inigo didn’t know whether he wanted a legitimate response or not, so he opted just on shaking his head dumbly. “That’s what I thought. Stop apologizing for your sister’s bad decisions. I wouldn’t apologize for anyone but myself.”

“I just… She’s my  _ sister.”  _ And that sentence had a lot more to unpack then he would have preferred. 

Gerome tightened his grip on Inigo’s waist. “Not anymore.”

“Not anymore,” he echoed. 

Who was Inigo to judge though? Was he the same person anymore? Everything that once made him  _ him  _ got stripped away this week. He could no longer dance in the shadows of the night. He could no longer venture into the streets of town and attempt to pick up any girls left. He could no longer pretend he was the son of a tactician and a dancer, the older brother of a genius. Instead, Inigo was just alone. There was nothing left to describe him as… And something about that sickened him.

Suddenly, a sharp stab of pain shot through the thin fabric on his hip, and Inigo yelped. “What’s that for?”

“Thinking isn’t your strong suit. You’re going to exhaust yourself,” the other boy said with absolutely no inflection. Inigo should be more like Gerome. Gerome didn’t let every single turn of phrase upset him so greatly. Most days, he seemed completely unfazed by the way the world burned down around them.

Inigo flinched.  _ That  _ was a bad turn of phrase. “I asked you to distract me! Uh… My family is shitty. I wouldn’t bring anyone home to meet them.”

A bitter laugh cut off his next words. Where would he even bring them? To the Dragon’s Table? To the ‘grave’ of his mother? In the end, they had to dig up her decaying corpse and lit it aflame when they abandoned Ylisse… The scent of  _ that  _ burning would haunt him much worse than when his own body was lit aflame. 

“Do you really think I’d bring anyone to meet my family, if they were still alive? My father was a fool,” Gerome easily said, not caring that he just insulted the dead.

He shook his head. “Sure, but you love your mom.”

“Loved.”

“Okay, yeah, this was more depressing than distracting.” Inigo fixed his eyes on Minerva’s scales. He was sure Gerome still loved his father deep down. After all, he absolutely  _ adored  _ Uncle Vaike. He had more confidence than Inigo could ever muster. Then again, now Inigo flirted with anything with legs. Some might argue he started to develop his own reserves of confidence.

Sighing, Gerome adjusted himself on the wyvern. “The trip will be over soon. I’m sure Brady will heal up your leg when we land. It’s no longer an option to just let it heal naturally. Otherwise, I think you might die from infection, or some other gruesome way.”

“You’d probably like that,” Inigo started.

Before he could finish his joke, Gerome nodded. “One less burden to deal with.”

The way he tightened his arm around Inigo’s waist, however, said something completely different, and he couldn’t stop the smile starting to play at his face.

Then, he remembered  _ why  _ he was so high in the sky with Gerome, and the smile dropped off his face.

-

The second they touched down on the ground, Lucina rushed up to meet them. “I’m done. I’m done with these endless fights.”

“What are you talking about?” Gerome said.

However, Lucina’s eyes were completely fixed on Inigo. “I think you’re the key to ending this war.”

**Author's Note:**

> I just got a tumblr, so if you guys want to chat over there or send suggestions, it's darkesky over there too!


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